


The Storm Made Bliss

by Saucery



Series: The Sterek Porn Collection [12]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (Almost), (Not), Adolescent Sexuality, Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire, Bad Touch, Badwrong, Bisexuality, But it Feels So Good, Canon Bisexual Character, Car Sex, Cock Tease, Cousin Incest, Cousins, Cultural References, Dirty Talk, Drama, Drunkenness, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, Episode Related, Forbidden, Fucked Up, I'll Wait Until You're Legal, Illicit Relationship, Incest, Kinky, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Near-Sex, No Werewolves, Obsession, Okay Not Really, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Pop Culture, Possessive Behavior, Roughness, Sarcasm, Secrets, Self-Discipline, Self-Discovery, Sexual Content, Sexual Fantasy, Snark, Subtextual Sadomasochism, Teen Angst, Teenagers, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, Underage Character, Underage Drinking, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Virginity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-12
Updated: 2013-05-12
Packaged: 2017-12-11 15:31:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/800289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saucery/pseuds/Saucery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Derek really was Stiles's cousin?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Storm Made Bliss

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the Miguel scene. The title is from [this poem](http://www.mag4.net/Rimbaud/poesies/Boat.html) by Arthur Rimbaud.

* * *

 

Stiles hates his cousin. He’s using the word _hate_ , here. (Sometimes, after Derek’s pissed him off for the umpteenth time, Stiles talks to himself like a deranged Jack Nicholson.) It’s just - it wouldn’t be so bad if Derek wasn’t better than Stiles, in almost every way.

Taller. Stronger. Broader. Leather...ier.

Derek’s the typical hot cousin you can’t measure up to, no matter how you try. The typical hot, older,  _mean_ cousin that puts on all the muscle you can’t, in all the places you can’t, and insists on reminding you what a scrawny weed you are. While tugging on your hair, so you have to get a buzz-cut just to get him to quit doing that.

Derek makes Stiles’s teeth gnash and his skin prickle and heat, makes his fists clench and his spine stiffen. It doesn’t help that Derek bullied the hell out of him when Stiles was a kid - nothing major, just stupid shit like slipping spiders into Stiles’s bed to hear him scream, but still. There’s a history, there. A grudge. Stiles has no idea why Derek’s always had it out for him, and frankly, he doesn’t care. All he knows is that the few years of respite he had while Derek was at college are over, because Derek’s back, and he’s meaner _and_ hotter than ever.

And, for some reason, he can’t leave Stiles alone. For a recent graduate with a grown-up job, he seems to have a lot of free time to be an asshole. He keeps messing with Stiles, keeps raising Stiles’s hackles, keeps showing up in Stiles’s bedroom - of all places - on random weekends, keeps asking rude, invasive questions about Stiles’s private life. And keeps sneering at Stiles’s crush on Lydia, which - fine, Derek used to do that before, too, but Stiles is damn well sixteen years old and it isn’t puppy-love, anymore. (Is it?)

It’s doubly humiliating because Stiles is in the middle of discovering his bisexuality, which apparently has no taste, because it rates Derek above Jackson Whittemore, even though Derek’s personality is crappier than Jackson’s, and that’s saying something.

But if Stiles gets the occasional inappropriate erection when Derek rumbles in that voice of his or slouches like a GQ model or stalks toward him like a tiger on the prowl, Stiles is gonna ignore it, because a) Derek is a jackass and b) Derek is his cousin. His first cousin, even. (Aunt Talia, Derek’s mom, is Dad’s elder sister. She married into the Hales, and has been ruling them ever since, like the alpha female she is.)

Things change, though, when Stiles finds out what Derek _really_ wants from him.

It happens on Lydia’s birthday.

Or - or after Lydia’s birthday.

See, it’s kind of a tradition that the Stilinskis support the Hales, and vice-versa; they’re technically the same family, after all. And one of the ways in which the Hales support the Stilinskis is to fill in for Stiles’s dad when he’s busy doing sheriff-type things.

If Stiles is lucky, it’s Aunt Talia or Uncle Fred that does the filling in, or even Laura. If Stiles is less lucky, it’s Uncle Peter, who takes a special joy in criticizing everything Stiles wears, but also has great advice about what to get people for their birthdays. (Like Lydia, for example.)

If Stiles is the saddest, unluckiest bastard in the universe, however, it’s Derek.

Stiles is the saddest, unluckiest bastard in the universe.

Because Derek’s sent to pick up a slightly inebriated Stiles after Lydia’s birthday party, during which Stiles finally told her how he felt and she finally turned him down. Not we-can-still-be-friends-down, but Gotye-down. ‘Somebody That I Used to Know’-down. Final. As the fall of an axe. An executioner’s axe. A guillotine. Except that it’s Stiles’s heart, not his head, left rolling on the floor.

Derek drives Stiles home in a sullen silence, like Stiles’s very existence is a burden on him. Which, heh, that’s what everyone thinks, isn’t it? That Stiles is a waste of space?

Woozy and despairing, Stiles waxes lyrical about Danny’s abs and about how Lydia has ruined him for all girls and that maybe Stiles should be aiming for the guys - although not Danny, of course, Danny is way out of his league - but an ordinary guy, a nice guy, someone like Scott, who’ll -

And then, Derek is kissing him.

Just - parking the Camaro and shoving him against the passenger seat and  _kissing_ him, deep and harsh and just as mean as everything else Derek has ever said or done to him. Stiles gasps and scrabbles at Derek’s shoulders, suddenly flame-hot and lit from within, like a struck flint, and so hard that it aches, that it literally hurts, worse than the scrape of Derek’s stubble against his face and the bruising grip Derek has on his jaw, worse than the realization that Stiles could’ve had this, all along, that Derek wanted him to have this. Wanted to have _him_. It’s -

It’s everything and nothing Stiles has ever imagined, because he’s never, even in his wildest fantasies, dared to imagine having sex with his cousin. His most-hated cousin. (The odd, unintentional sex dream doesn’t count, because of the, uh, unintentional factor.)

It’s better than anything Stiles has ever imagined. Filthier. More desperate. More wrenching.

But Derek pulls away just when Stiles is _this_ close to coming (because Derek’s still got that cruel streak, clearly), and pushes a rough, callused thumb into Stiles’s mouth, which feels just as swollen and bruised as it ought to, just as bitten and wet and wounded -

So _good_ -

And Derek rasps, “Not yet,” which makes no sense, and then, “not when you’re drunk,” which -

“Fuck you,” Stiles croaks, and Derek stares at him, and laughs. A short, ragged laugh.

“That’s the plan,” he says, and slides his spit-slick thumb across to Stiles’s throat, resting above his pulse, which leaps at what Derek’s suggesting.

“I need to get sober,” says Stiles. “Stat.”

“You need to get older,” Derek says, and Stiles glares at him.

“Excuse me? You just had your tongue in my - I’m pretty sure that counts as sexual assault of a minor, anyway - ”

“I know,” says Derek, and pinches bridge of his nose. “I know. I didn’t - ”

“Get me home, Jiminy Cricket,” Stiles commands, confidence coming out of nowhere, “and drop the moral act. You want me. You’ve _wanted_ me, and you’re - ”

“And I’m about to get shot. By your dad.”

“Not if he doesn’t find out.”

“Stiles.”

“How long have you wanted me? Creepy-long? Or creepier-long?”

“Shut up.” And the scowl is back on Derek’s face.

Except that Stiles knows what it means, now. It means Derek is guilty, but not as guilty as he should be, and is angry with himself for it. It’s so obvious. Honestly, it’s amazing that Stiles never noticed it.

Stiles leans his head against the passenger-side window, licks his stinging lips, and notes that it takes Derek two fumbles with the key to restart the car. Hm.

“Did you always have a thing for me? Even when I was, like, thirteen? That’s just wrong, Derek. So, so wrong.” Stiles sounds slyer than he ever has, and it startles him a bit, but not enough to give him pause. “Did you want to slip your hand under my itty-bitty shorts? Jerk me off in my bed? Fuck my tiny widdle mouth?”

“Stop,” Derek snarls, and swerves the car back onto the road.

“You did, didn’t you? You wanted - ”

“I was seventeen,” Derek snaps. “You were - I - ”

“Is that why you went to New York for college? Were you running away from me? Great job on that, by the way, given how you’re back here and molesting me like - ”

And Derek is slamming the brakes, veering the car to the side of the road again - god, he’s driving like a lunatic, like he’s the one that’s drunk - and then Derek’s out of his seatbelt and his hands are on Stiles’s neck, tilting his chin back, and further back, until Stiles is arched helplessly, agonizingly, his eyes watering at the stretch of it.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m touching you. I think about touching you. I think about bending you in half and fucking the words right out of you, until you’re quiet, until you don’t - ” Derek growls “ -  _talk_ , you’re always talking, you - and your hands, I want to pin them by the wrists so you can’t move, so you just have to lie there and take it, take everything I’m giving to you, every goddamn inch of it, until you - ”

“Until I what?” Stiles challenges, the words burning a path out of his throat, because Derek  _is_ pressing just that viciously. “Until I cry? Gee, that’s not disturbing at all, Derek, congratulations on being completely sexually normal - ”

“Shut. Up.” And Derek kisses him a second time, as brutal as the first, but he’s shaking all over, like he’s caught a fever, like _Stiles_ is his fever.

Stiles is beginning to realize that he may not be completely sexually normal, either, for getting off on that. But then, is anybody normal? Maybe sex is always screwed up and thorny and starved.

And they’re not even having sex, yet, but it feels like they are. Will it count as sex if Stiles comes in his pants? Because he’s about to, he’s -

And Derek wrenches away.

“Fuck,” Stiles hisses, so frustrated for a second that all he can do is bang his head back against the seat and grind the heel of his palm against his crotch, as if that’ll make it easier, as if it’ll halt the rising tide of his orgasm.

His hips twitch, and Derek _groans_.

“Fuck me, then, if you want to.” And Stiles’s voice is shaking, too, shaking as badly as Derek still is.

“No.”

“Do - do it, I - ”

“Wait. You’ll wait, like I did, like I still _am_.”

“Are you punishing me for making you wait? That’s even more insane than you usually are, Derek.”

“That’s not - ”

“It so is, and you know it. And whatever happened to me fucking you? Unless I was hallucinating about that.”

“You weren’t.” Derek’s hands travel down to Stiles’s ass, cupping it, and the gleam of his eyes is as hungry as an animal’s and as blank. “I’ll fuck you in every possible way, have - _have_ you in every possible way you can be had - ”

Stiles shudders, and he’s still close to coming, still... “If you don’t want me jizzing in your car, you oughta give me some space. Until we get home, and - ”

“And nothing. Not. Until. You’re eighteen.”

Stiles snorts, and seriously considers jerking it out in here, coming all over the Camaro’s smooth black seats, making Derek watch him, watch what Derek says he can’t touch.

“You.” Derek inches back, by degrees, like it pains him to do so. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” And Stiles is abruptly exhausted, just - done with this. Uh, not with his _dick_ , but... emotionally? Or something. “Take me home, Derek. And leave me there. If you can. You can’t, can you? I don’t even know why you pretend - ”

Derek turns away. And starts the car, one last time.

He doesn’t look at Stiles on the way back, doesn’t say another word, and the fact that his hands are white-knuckled around the steering wheel doesn’t, actually, make Stiles any happier.

It only makes Stiles miserable, and it makes him  _doubt_ , because Derek is an adult and is four years older and has (must have) slept with lots of other people, and his fixation on Stiles is - admittedly - of the erotic horror variety, bad-wrong and with a side of twisted, to boot. If Stiles were a Gothic heroine or a Bella Swan stand-in, he’d be seriously worried for himself, right about now.

Should he be worried for himself?

If Stiles loses his virginity to Derek, it definitely won’t be gentle, won’t be -

Does Stiles want it to be gentle?

There’s a huge part of him that clamors ‘No,’ but it’s also a new part of him, brand new, as in, it only popped into being a couple minutes ago, when Derek was -

God, Derek was  _choking_ him.

Okay, no, but -

Almost -

And he needs to come. Stiles needs to come, soon, and remembering what Derek did to him isn’t exactly helping him in the rational decision-making department.

“You’ve got a point,” Stiles admits, when they pull into the driveway of Stiles’s house.

Derek’s eyes flick to him, a little wry and a lot sharp, and the line of his lips is stern, but the rabid lust seems to have faded from him, or at least returned to wherever Derek keeps it hidden. A caged wolf.

Is it weird that Stiles misses it? More than he’s relieved about it?

Is it weird that he misses it _despite_ being relieved about it?

“I mean, about the... waiting. Thing. But not too long! Not, um. I might need to get my head around this, first.”

“You think?” And that’s Derek’s bitchiness, right there, the same sarcastic, icy bitchiness that has always made Stiles want to break Derek’s face, but now just makes him want to break Derek’s mask, maybe climb on top of Derek and ride his dick until Derek gives up and _thrusts_.

Yeah. Rational decision-making capacity. Severely compromised. “I think I need to get out of this car,” Stiles squeaks, and only just manages not to say, ‘and masturbate like crazy in my bedroom’. Because Stiles might miss Derek going all wolfish on him, but he isn’t 100% ready to be Red Riding Hood, and if he isn’t, then, um. He probably shouldn’t be waving himself in Derek’s face like a slab of fresh meat. Not that it’s his fault, that Derek wants him - he knows it isn’t, but there is such a thing as tempting fate...

At least Stiles isn’t that drunk, anymore. Nothing like a near-incestuous, near-sadomasochistic sexual encounter to sober you up. Especially if you’re a virgin, with no experience in sexual encounters, whatsoever.

Stiles climbs out of the car and closes the door, and Derek sort of... nods tersely at him, like Derek is the perfect chaperone, decent enough to escort a pathetically drunk teen home.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Stiles mutters, and Derek narrows his eyes.

“Go in. I’ll watch you until you do.”

“What, afraid some ephebophile will make the moves on me? Oh, wait - ”

“ _Go_.”

Stiles goes.

And hopes to god his dad isn’t home from his shift, yet, because Stiles does _not_ need a thorough (and hypocritical) lecture about the evils of alcohol, not when his dad drinks like nobody’s business, and not when Stiles has a boner to tend to, while simultaneously fantasizing about his cousin that he’s always hated, and isn’t entirely sure he’s stopped hating, even if -

Even -

Fuck.

Stiles doesn’t like it when Derek’s right.

He also doesn’t like it when it means he may not get to have sex in the near future.

Maybe pre-sex, though? Combined with (he can’t picture going on ‘dates’ with Derek) getting to know each other? Maybe even liking (uh, no) or tolerating each other?

At least?

Aunt Talia seems to barely tolerate _her_ husband, half the time, but that’s -

Stiles isn’t planning to marry Derek, for god’s sake. All he wants to do is get off, and not have it be all fucked up, later. Or even during. Unless it’s fucked up in the sexy ways.

Stiles jumps when he hears the engine of Derek’s car rev up, and realizes he’s at the door.

He doesn’t turn to wave goodbye, or stare at Derek as he leaves.

Stiles just unlocks the door, calls for his dad, breathes a sigh of relief when no one answers, and slinks upstairs, to do what nature intends all teenage boys to do, particularly those teenage boys that’ve been mauled by attractive, stubbled cousins with bodies like Greek gods, cousins that look like they want to devour you whole.

He isn’t going to make it to eighteen, is he?

He -

He doesn’t _want_ to make it to eighteen.

Damn.

 

* * *

**fin.**

**Author's Note:**

> Like my writing? Check out [my blog](http://saucefactory.tumblr.com/)!


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